


should have kept my heart

by gaysubtexts



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love, ya ik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysubtexts/pseuds/gaysubtexts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn can’t deal with the fact that liam doesn’t feel the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	should have kept my heart

**Author's Note:**

> if u don't like unrequited love step away all right.

zayn is alone.

it’s plain and clear for anyone to see. it’s the way he looks at them, watches them spend every waking moment together, all laughs and smiles and heartache; it’s in the way he looks himself in the mirror, dissatisfied; it’s in the way he counters every compliment thrown at him by a pretty girl, because, honestly, he isn’t that great (he knows this all too well); it’s in the way he curls up in a ball and hugs his knees when no one’s around; the way he bites his lip whenever he wants to scream out his feelings of longing; it’s in the way his eyes feel damp every time he thinks of what he can’t have but desperately wants; how his heart hangs so fucking heavily in his chest he feels he might double over from the weight of it, solid and unrelenting.

zayn is lonely.

and sometimes it’s easy to hide it. he’s made an art out of concealing it, actually. wrapping it up in layer after layer of denial and self-loathing and longing and sadness and aching and storing it in the deepest corner of his heart where nothing but cobwebs lie (where no one else can see).

because deep inside of himself, it’s an ugly place. it’s black and hollow and full of despair and the mere thought of anyone opening up his chest and discovering that part of himself makes him nauseous. so he closes himself up, zips up the atrocity that silently ebbs back into the gulf of darkness, his skin bruised from the effort.

his insides are ugly, and he knows this.

and they consist of her; her tan skin and light brown curls and wrinkled eyelids and misshapen teeth and six-inch stilettos and toned arms that wrap around the boy so enthusiastically, so carelessly. she’s a dancer, her body muscular and firm and attractive. her eyes light up when she has more drinks than she should, her speech slurring and her breath reeking of vodka. the sound of overplayed pop music gets her excited, and she pulls at the boy’s hand and begs him to dance, once, twice, three times (annoyingly unrelenting) until he agrees, well okay then, all right, and follows close behind.

and zayn doesn’t understand what liam could possibly see in her.

///

zayn is lonely, and the feeling consumes him.

every day is the same, in the mental aspect of things. in reality, his life should be anything but reiterating, anything but boring, anything but tedious and dull and overdone. he’s one of the most celebrated teenagers on earth at the moment, his name on the tip of every girl’s tongue, his voice blaring through the speakers of every stereo in existence.

he should be happy, but he’s not.

///

and it’s like a blade of steel’s been carved with his name on it as it stabs him in the chest repeatedly. once, twice, three times and he starts to laugh because even this feeling doesn’t compare to the nails scraping against his heart when they’re together.

no, it’s not nearly as bad.

it’s because zayn is naturally so open, so exposed, so unyielding and so completely filled with light that he can’t help but not be obvious. what a normal person feels, zayn feels tenfold. his experiences are brightened, widened so that every inch of his body is bathed in happiness when content but shadowed in darkness when down. it’s when he and liam are anywhere near each other that the yearning he feels rises in the air, thick and greedy, tangible; anyone could simply reach up and grab the contents of his heart, give them away. because that’s what he does is givegivegive until he’s left with nothing but his head in his hands.

it’s not like he hasn’t tried to dispose of his feelings because, fuck, he’s tried time after time after time but to no avail.

some things you just can’t get rid of willingly.

///

it was liam’s shyness that first put a speck on the part of zayn’s brain entitled ‘infatuation,’ his hair a mess of lazy waves on his head, his skin laced with funny looking birthmarks that couldn’t have possible enhanced his adorable features any more.

it was liam’s tenderness that turned that speck into something more, a bit of a crush so to speak, one that left zayn thinking about liam when out grocery shopping or watching the news or waking up in the morning.

it was liam’s passion that put a spark on those feelings, turned them into desire that had zayn stirring at night, his thoughts anything but friendly. zayn would wake up in the morning to find that a wet spot trailed its way through his boxers, soaking the front of them completely.

everything liam did, he did with importance, with significance, with meaning. he put his sweat and tears into his work as he belted out high note after high note, hitting each one with chemical precision that left zayn inspired and in awe. 

it’s when all the boys are together, empty seats residing next to each one of them, and liam chooses to sit next to zayn. it’s when liam will ramble about something funny that happened to him the other day and his face scrunches up in this really cute almost sickeningly adorable way that zayn can’t help but grab him by the chin and caress his cheeks lightly; it’s when liam lets him. it’s when zayn knows something liam doesn’t and teaches it to him, the look of eagerness brightening liam’s features.

it was that one time they stayed up until five a.m. doing nothing but talking and listening to music and laughing and getting drunk; losing themselves in forgotten confessions and deep secrets and heartache—that was when it happened. the vodka was talking (only somewhat if zayn’s being completely honest) and zayn had leaned it just a tiny bit, just enough so they were centimeters apart, but hesitating slightly at the proximity, the authenticity of it. he wanted nothing more than to lean in further and further and further until their lips met, but midway into this thought it didn’t matter anymore because liam—liam—had already leaned the rest of the way, his lips pressed against the corner of zayn’s mouth, missing slightly.

zayn didn’t have to think twice, didn’t hesitate in the slightest now, as his hands found the edge of liam’s jaw and moved his lips so they fully covered liam’s mouth. they both leaned in closer, even more so, so that their thighs touched. liam’s hand found zayn’s hips, pulled him forward, closer.

and that was it.

liam jerked back, his body seeming to have some kind of reflexive reaction, untangling itself from zayn, his lips permanently detached. he muttered a small “sorry” and dismissed himself, gone within seconds.

zayn swears the number of footsteps he heard weren’t enough to make it out the door.

///

as much as zayn didn’t understand it—how one person could have this kind of effect on him (him, of all people)—he didn’t care to. not really. if it were anyone else, maybe he would’ve stepped away. if it were anyone else, maybe he would’ve denied his feelings and gone back to the pretty girls waiting for him at the bar, whispering filthy nothings into his ear. if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have given a single shit.

but it was liam. soft, kind, gentle liam, who put a match in zayn’s heart and set it on fire without warning.

///

zayn is surrounded by good people, and his band mates are the best example of this. while niall is greedy when it comes to food, he’s just downright generous when it comes encouragement and assuredness. harry is unserious but bloody brilliant when it comes up with concocting solutions to even the most complicated of problems. louis is a smartass but strangely genuine and sincere about his convictions.

so when they notice that zayn is spiraling deeper and deeper into a cloud of despair and nothingness, they do what they can to help, even if with empty hope.

they gather around him one night, and zayn feels as if he’s part of a cult.

“you just… you’re not yourself lately, mate,” louis says as he bites at his nails.

“yeah,” harry mumbles, “s’not healthy at all. we see the way you mope around, day after day.”

“piss off,” zayn utters, his frame slumped against an old couch. “i don’t need your help.”

“you’re a bit pathetic really, if i say so myself,” niall chimes in, not the least bit unserious. “we know you’re hopelessly in love and all but this is taking it a bit too far.”

zayn scoffs, “i don’t believe you guys. you don’t understand anything.”

“but we do,” says louis, and he edges closer to zayn, his hand resting on his shoulder. “we do know, zayn. it’s not hard to guess what’s going on when you look at liam with hunger the way you do.”

a smirk plays at zayn’s lips. “hunger, eh? you’re one for strange use of words.”

“i’m serious,” and louis rests his other hand on harry’s thigh. “for once in my life, that is. you’re… you’re not helping yourself. continuing your love parade—it’s only gonna get worse, i’m telling you.”

zayn rubs his face, exhausted by all this small talk. “you don’t. you don’t understand. none of you.”

and when none of them say anything, he continues, “when i first met him i knew—i knew instantly i would have to spend the next few days rearranging my mind so there’d be room for him there.”

and suddenly he’s exhausted with the weight of this confession. it holds down his shoulders, his chest, his back; his body aches with the credibility of it; it vows to break him at any given moment.

“he’s with danielle, zayn.”

“and don’t i fucking know it,” zayn snaps. “it’s not like i don’t have to endure watching them every other damn day, groping and moaning and making out and all that other shit couples do. you think i don’t know how he feels about her? that he really, really likes her?” a cold laugh dispels deep from within his throat, “hell, i should just go ahead and say it—he loves her! no fucking point in denying it anyhow.” and it physically hurts him to confess this, hurts a thousand times more to have to say it out loud.

he’s too afraid to see their expressions but when he does he regrets it immediately; their gazes shift awkwardly to the space behind where zayn’s sitting, something he can’t see.

until he turns around, that is. and when he does it suffocates him, burns in his throat, only allows a tiny gasp to escape his mouth.

“liam,” he breathes, and he watches as liam turns abruptly and walks out the same direction he came in from, eager to get away.

he gets up quickly, runs after him, liam only ten or so feet in front of him. “liam!” but liam’s strides quicken; he runs with purpose.

“wait,” zayn calls, and he paces himself. his legs are longer, faster, stronger, and he knows he can catch up. he holds his breath, ignoring the wind that threatens to put them farther apart and leaps up to grab the back of liam’s shirt.

“liam, please—“

“get off of me,” liam scowls, and for the first time his eyes are dark, mean.

“please, just listen to me,” zayn begs, holding onto him firmly, determined. “please just let me explain.”

liam’s tired now, tired of fighting. “i—okay, jesus, just—let me go.” and it takes all of zayn’s willpower to do so but he does, and they straighten themselves out, face each other, one on one.

“i’m sorry,” zayn breathes, because he is. he’s sorry liam overheard him talking so distastefully about his relationship and he’s sorry for indirectly insulting his girlfriend and he’s sorry for not being the one liam wants. “i—i don’t know what came over me.”

“but i do.” and the abruptness of liam’s comment has zayn stopping in his tracks. “i’ve seen the way you look at me. i…”

zayn turns away, embarrassed.

“i know. i have known for some time. you don’t exactly try hiding your feelings, do you?” and the bitterness in liam’s voice makes zayn’s eyes sting. he bites down on his tongue, hopes to draw blood. anything as an excuse to get out of there.

he isn’t sure of what to say to that, so he stays quiet, avoids liam’s forceful gaze. it threatens to burn holes in zayn’s stomach.

“how long?” and when liam speaks this time his voice has softened a bit, is less condescending. it may not be that much of a comfort, but it’s enough to get zayn to make eye contact.

he sighs, momentarily closes his eyes, tired. “since we met.” and he hates himself even more. he twists his fingers nervously, embarrassed and angry and unstable. he looks into liam’s eyes. “please don’t be mad at me. it’s not my fault. i can’t help it if—“

“don’t. don’t say it.”

zayn swallows, the saliva burning his throat on the way down. “please,” he whispers. “this doesn’t have to change things. i’ll back off. i’ll disappear when she shows up. i’ll control myself. i’ll play nice. please.” he can’t help but involuntarily lean into liam, get closer, feel him just inches away.

but liam backs away, his head facing the other way. “i really thought you were unlike anyone else, zayn. i still do. you’re… you’re incredible, you are.”

it’s only when liam compliments him, only when the words are uttered so sweetly and so sincerely out of his mouth, that he ever believes them. anyone else trying to prove to him that he is worth something is a lost cause.

“but it’s just not like that, you and me. we aren’t. we can’t be.” his voice is gentle, harmless. and zayn crumbles under the weight of it. his throat tightens. the oxygen is leaving his lungs, slowlyslowlyslowly until he’s beating his chest, urging air to enter. he realizes he has no choice but to run. his strides are long, fast, full of purpose. he needs to get away. he needs to leave. he needs to disappear, to fade into the background and become a shadow of a person, even more so than he is now.

no map can direct how to make it home, he knows this.

he is more lost than before.


End file.
